


My Hands They Shake (My Head It Spins)

by iisaax



Series: Take Me In [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brain Damage, Bucky Barnes Goes to Therapy, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Healing, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nonverbal Communication, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Relapsing, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iisaax/pseuds/iisaax
Summary: Bucky sits up in bed.The room is quiet, deafeningly so, in comparison to the gunfire and screams echoing in his head. He looks down to where his hands are clenched in his lap and forces himself to let go. He looks over to where his bed partner is snoring, and is relieved to see that his dream really was just that, a dream.Steve had died. And the soldier had done it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Another one!! So excited to start this new fic - it takes place shortly after [I And Love And You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611325/chapters/36246567).
> 
> Title is lyrics from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0eSpAgqrWo) song. It may sound familiar :-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Edit: I've made a playlist for this series on Spotify. Listen to it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1214399485/playlist/4NGMkE0WQZLRtW2NCfblip?si=KJRw41ZNROCaKdSsvxCzrQ), if you'd like <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: brief mention of blood

Bucky sits up in bed. 

The room is quiet, deafeningly so, in comparison to the gunfire and screams echoing in his head. He looks down to where his hands are clenched in his lap and forces himself to let go. He looks over to where his bed partner is snoring, and is relieved to see that his dream really was just that, a dream. 

Steve had died. And the soldier had done it.

Bucky lies back down. He stares at the ceiling, watches the fan and listens to its white noise. He closes his eyes, but he can see the body, unmoving, so he keeps them open. He turns his head toward Steve and looks, just looks. 

Steve’s eyes are closed, and his lips are slightly open. His lashes are fanned out over his cheeks, and his breathing is slow, deep. Bucky reaches out his flesh hand to touch Steve’s arm. His body is warm, alive. He rolls over, silent, and tucks his other arm under his head. He strokes his fingers up and down Steve’s side, just feeling. 

Steve stirs, and he freezes. Blue eyes open. 

“Buck?” he mumbles, brow creasing.

“S’okay,” Bucky breathes. “G-g-go to sleep.”

Steve blinks a few times, slow, then moves his hand to grab at Bucky’s, where it had stilled at his elbow. He pulls it towards his chest and curls into it, settling back down. He falls back asleep, breath evening out quickly. He snores, softly. Bucky smiles, a whisper of a thing.

Bucky settles back down himself, and tightens his hand around Steve’s. When he closes his eyes, he sees the body sleeping instead. Six minutes and fifteen seconds, then he lets himself drift off.

-

When Bucky next awakens, the room is bright, and the bed empty. He stretches, pulled taut, spreading his limbs across the span of the mattress, then relaxes, letting his eyes close again. He waits three minutes and four seconds, then gets out of bed.

Bucky pads down the hall, rubbing his eyes, and spots Steve in the kitchen making some food at the stove. Bacon, smells like. He looks up when Bucky enters the room, and smiles. 

“Mornin’,” he says.

“G-good morning.” Bucky uses sign language at the same time, in case Steve can’t hear him over the sizzling. 

Steve pokes around in a skillet while Bucky pulls out his chair and sits. “How did you sleep?”

Fine, he signs, lying. Steve glances over, then frowns at the food. 

“You don’t look fine.” A pop, and Steve jumps back. “Another nightmare?”

“No,” Bucky lies again. 

Steve hums. He takes a few pieces of bacon off the pan with a fork - they’re finally allowed - and places them on a paper towel-covered plate. “Are you hungry?”

“Mm-hm. Ple-please.”

Steve turns off the burner, and comes over with the plate. He holds it out so Bucky can grab a couple pieces of bacon, then returns to the stove so he can take out the rest.

Bucky takes a bite of one of the pieces. Flavor spreads through his mouth, and he smiles to himself, chewing. It’s one of his favorite things about being able to eat solid foods, the taste.

Steve carefully places the pan in the stove, mindful as to not to get any water on it, then joins Bucky at the table, bringing the plate. “What was it about?”

Bucky swallows. This again. “I t-told you, I slept fi-fine.”

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve goes to grab a piece of bacon, “but I don’t believe you. You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky beats him to the piece he wanted, and shoves it in his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk.

Nice try, Steve signs. I know you know ASL.

No I don’t.

You’re literally signing right now. Besides, I taught you.

Bucky swallows, arguing, Clint taught me.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, true, but I helped. Now what’s bothering you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes right back but complies, mumbling, “Nightmare.”

Steve frowns again, and sets down the piece he was about to eat. “Buck… What about?”

“You,” Bucky looks away. Dead, he finishes with his hands.

Steve moves beside him and kneels, rubbing a hand on his knee. “Did the soldier do it?” he asks softly.

Bucky nods, still looking avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t mention the blood slick on its hands and the complete and utter lack of remorse it had felt, and the _screaming_ , but he thinks Steve understands anyway.

“It was just a dream,” Steve soothes, tapping onto his leg almost unconsciously. _I love you_ , he taps. Bucky gives him a wan smile. “It wasn’t real. You wouldn’t do that. Not in a million years.”

“B-but,” Bucky says, barely a whisper, “ _it_ wo-would.”

“No…” Steve murmurs, pulling him into a hug. “It wouldn’t do that either. You both love me.”

Yeah, Bucky pats onto his back. We do.

-

Steve holds Buck’s hair as he retches. 

He rubs a hand up and down his back. “All out?”

Bucky nods, moaning softly. Steve reaches up and flushes the toilet. Bucky sits back, all but collapsing against the tub. He wipes his mouth. “I th-thought I was done thro-throwing up…”

“Me too.” Steve fetches him a cold rag from the sink and starts to clean his face for him. “Do you still feel sick?”

No, he weakly signs.

“That’s good, at least.” Steve flips the towel and presses it to his forehead. He sinks into the touch, closing his eyes. Steve can notice from this close that his eye bags are back, and he smiles sadly. He asks, “Want me to call Bruce?”

Bucky shakes his head, careful not to upset his stomach. The muscle memory, Steve guesses, makes him twitch a couple times, and he mumbles, “D-don’t want to b-b-bother him.”

“He said we could call at any time.” Steve pushes his sweaty hair out of his face and kisses his forehead. “Wouldn’t be botherin’ him.”

“Well…” He twitches a couple more times. “Okay.”

Steve helps him up onto shaky legs and leads him into their bedroom. “You tired?”

Bucky nods, looking miserable. Steve’s heart breaks, and he helps him down onto the bed. He kisses his forehead again, one, two, three times. Buck gives him a weak smile.

Bruce picks up on the second ring. “Bruce Banner.”

“Hey Bruce,” Steve closes the door quietly behind him. “It’s Steve.”

“Oh, hey Steve… Sorry, could you give me one second?”

“Sure.” Steve walks into the kitchen, where he tosses the rest of the bacon that made Buck sick. He scowls at it as it falls into the trash can. He moves into the living room and sits down on the couch, moving his sketchbook out of the way. When Bruce asks for a little bit more time, he starts to flip through it. On the second page is that portrait of Bucky he never finished, and he turns past it, feeling a little sick himself.

“Alright. What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, no…It’s just. Bucky. He was sick again.”

“Hmm,” Bruce replies, and Steve can hear him sit down in a chair that creaks as he leans back. “What caused it?”

“Well, we were just having breakfast,” Steve starts, playing with a frayed edge of paper. “I made some eggs and some bacon, and after eating a little bit, he started feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom. I… I thought he was okay to eat solid foods now,” Steve admits, feeling small. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Hm,” Bruce says again, clicking a pen. “What happened before breakfast?”

“He had a nightmare.”

“That was probably it. He was most likely just shaken up and the nerves got the best of him. I would just let him rest.”

Steve peers to where their bedroom door is still closed. “He’s resting now.”

“Good, good…If he continues to feel ill, just let me know and I can prescribe him some antiemetics. Do you need anything else?”

“No, that’s it,” Steve sighs. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“Anytime,” Bruce says with a smile, or at least sounds like he does, and the line goes dead. Steve stares at the home screen of his phone for a moment, then looks up as a cry comes from down the hall. He’s up and at the bedroom door in record time, and pushes it open with a, “Buck??”

Bucky is sitting up in bed, hands holding fast to the sheets. He looks around the room with a terrified expression, and when he spots Steve, he starts to cry. He gets up out of bed with some difficulty and comes over, hands shaking. He falls before Steve on his knees and buries his face in his hands, a horrible gasp wracking his body. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpers.

Steve crouches to meet him, hesitant to touch, but hovering all the same. “Bucky…” He gently places a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“D-don’t _call me that_!” Bucky shoves it from him, turning away. He sobs, hysterical, and sinks into himself, collapsing into a seated position. “Don’t _pretend_ like- like I’m _him_!!”

Steve, against his better judgement, grabs Bucky and pulls him close. “But you are,” he whispers into his hair. “You _are_ him.”

Bucky cries, and cries, and cries.

-

After fifteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Bucky pulls back. He wipes his eyes on a sleeve and looks at Steve, eyes tired. Steve has tears streaming down his face, but when he sees Bucky, sniffs and scrubs at it. 

“Hey…” he mumbles with a sad smile. “You okay?”

Yeah, Bucky replies, too exhausted to speak. You?

Another sad smile. “Don’t worry about me. Did you have another nightmare?”

Bucky nods, remembering. The laughing agents crowded around. The pallor of Steve's skin in the sickly lights. The look in his eyes as he looked up at the soldier. The aim, the fire. The _blood_. He shakes his head, over and over.

Steve pulls him in for another hug, but doesn’t try to stop him. He runs a lazy hand up and down his bumps of his spine. When Bucky is satisfied with the shuffle of thoughts, he presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Just a dream. Can’t hurt you.”

 _Can’t hurt me_ , he left unsaid. 

“Y-yes,” Bucky replies to both, voice cracked and rough. “It can.” It _could_.

Steve hugs him tighter, just holding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: reference to self-harm
> 
> More content warnings at the end of the chapter, if you don’t mind being spoiled.

Steve wakes up on the floor. 

He pushes himself up, disoriented. His ma’s blanket falls from his shoulders. The room is light, but barely so. How long was he sleeping? Bucky had awoken from the second nightmare around noon… He checks his watch. It’s six in the morning.

Steve rubs a hand down his face, and feels the marks the carpet made on his face. He looks around. Where is Bucky? Then, he hears the shower running. He stands, and nearly falls back over. God, he’s _hungry_.

He heads to the kitchen, passing the bathroom, where steam leaks under the door. He pulls open the fridge, stifling a yawn and settling on a protein shake. Behind it sits some leftover Soylent. He sets aside the shake and picks that up instead. Good thing they kept it, if Buck has to go back to liquid foods. Does he really have to go back?

He thinks about the call to Bruce. He thinks about what he said, about the nightmares. He looks towards the bathroom. He sees the dent in the wall. _Shit_. How long has Bucky been in the shower?

“Buck?” he calls, closing the fridge. Panic creeps up his throat. “ _Buck_?”

Steve approaches the door and knocks. “Bucky?” There’s no response. He knocks again, probably too hard. “You okay?” No response. He thinks about breaking it.

Then, over the spray, “Steve? S’at you?”

Steve closes his eyes, relief flooding him like a high. He sinks down to the ground and holds his forehead in his hands. What was he thinking? Bucky won’t hurt himself again. He’s _healing_.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Um, just wondering if you were almost finished.”

“Uh-huh. Almo-most done.”

“Okay,” Steve calls back, still holding his forehead. 

He tucks his knees up to his chest and tries to relax, tries to breathe. It’s surprisingly difficult. Why can’t he _breathe_? 

He pats around his pocket for his inhaler, but can’t find it. He pats around in his other pocket for a cigarette, anything. The door is pulled out from behind him, and a moment later, someone is kneeling in front of him and placing a warm hand on his chest. They grab one of his hands and place it on their chest. They’re taking long, even breaths. Steve struggles to match.

“In…and out,” he hears them say. “L-like this. In and out.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on matching their breath. In and out. In and out. 

A while later, he can’t tell how long, he opens his eyes. Bucky smiles at him, soft.

“The-there you are, punk. You d-d-doin’ okay?”

Steve takes a deep breath, and his lungs fill, then empty. Yes, he signs, suddenly remembering how. Bucky nods once, and water drips from his hair. The shower. The apartment. The serum. 

Steve doesn’t have asthma anymore.

“G-good. You had me scared th-there.” Bucky sits back on his heels, frowning. “I th-thought you didn’t have as-as-asthma no more.”

Me too, Steve signs, confused. He clears his throat, then croaks, “I don’t know what happened.”

“M-me neither…” Bucky sits for a moment, then stands and steps around Steve into the bathroom. Steve hears him mill around, probably getting dressed. “You ca-ca-can have the b-bathroom now.” 

Oh, right. “Thanks,” he mutters, pushing himself up off the ground. 

Bucky passes him into the hallway, headed for the bedroom. Steve watches him go, peeks at his arm. There’s no blood, no bandages. What was he _thinking_?

Steve enters the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He sits on the side of the tub for a few minutes, feeling more and more foolish by the second. He flushes the toilet, and washes his hands, just for something to do. 

He makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. He looks… awful. What happened, in the hallway? He searches his own face for answers, but can’t find anything. He dries his hands.

-

After the incident in the hallway, Bucky is a little wary to leave Steve alone. Funny, he thinks grimly, how that works. 

Two days, four hours, five minutes, and nineteen seconds pass before Steve notices. He catches Bucky lurking in the kitchen while he fixes some lunch. 

“I’m fine,” he assures Bucky with a tired laugh, “I’m fine, really. I promise.”

Bucky doesn’t quite believe him, but he drops it. Three more days pass.

Then, the soldier is standing, where it usually does, staring down at him, where he always is, on his knees, his face calm.

I trust you, he taps. I love you.

The soldier is jostled by someone in the crowd around and they shout at it, mad with glee - or maybe fear - to do it, _do it_.

The soldier aims, and he leans forward to place his forehead on the barrel. His mouth is covered but his eyes speak. I know you won’t, he says. I know you can’t.

The soldier does, and Bucky wakes up with a start.

He grabs at his chest, feeling the staccato of his heart, and looks around. Oh God, where is Steve? He searches frantically, choking on fear. Then he spots him, and he’s stagnant. The soldier really did it. _Bucky_ really did it. 

Bucky pushes himself out of the bed, horrified. Fuck. _Fuck_. He has to… He has to go. He starts packing a bag, ignoring the tears stinging at his eyes. He has to stay quiet, in case they hear him. They can’t take him back, they _can’t_. He can’t go back to the base, back to the chair, _fuck_. He needs his… He opens the closet, starts grabbing some clothes. 

“Bucky?”

 _Shit_ , they’ve found him. He turns, backing up against the coats. He scrambles for a knife. _Where is his knife_? 

Someone is in front of him now, hovering like they want to touch but know better. “Buck, it’s me.” They don’t sound afraid. They sound trusting, loving. _I know you won’t_ , they say. _I know you can’t_.

Bucky strains his eyes in the darkness. “Steve?” He thought he was…

“Yes, _yes_ , it’s _me_. Bucky, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Steve breathes, barely a whisper. He touches Bucky, feather-light. 

Bucky lets Steve pull him into a hug, still too shocked to cry. How is he alive? How is he okay with touching him?

“You’re okay,” Steve says again, holding him tight. “You’re okay.”

Bucky doesn’t believe him, but he tries.

-

“Yeah,” Steve is saying. “That’d be great. Thank you, Sam.”

“No problem, man,” Sam replies, voice muffled through the phone. “I’ll meet you guys there to show you around.”

“Okay. Um, see you soon.”

“Yep, see ya.”

Steve hangs up, and looks to where Bucky is curled up on the other side of the couch with a mug of tea. He looks… tired. Steve takes a deep breath and puts on his best smile. 

“Sam said he knows someone at the VA who can help. We’re gonna head there first thing tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Bucky shrugs morosely, his head twitching ever so slightly. Steve’s smile falters a bit.

“You need to sleep, Buck,” he rubs a hand on his knee, one, two, three times. “This person can talk to you about what you’re experiencing and maybe give you some peace of mind.”

“D-d-don’t n-need a shrink,” Bucky grumbles, swirling his tea. “M’not crazy.”

“Never said you were. But you do need help, Buck,” Steve tells him, gently. “Nothin’ wrong with asking for help.”

Bucky scoffs a bit. 

Steve frowns. “What?”

Bucky shrugs again, taking a sip. “It’s j-just funny. I think you- you need to li-listen to your own advice.”

Steve frowns some more. “What do you mean?”

“You- you had an- an- an,” he spells it out with a hand, A-N-X-I-E-T-Y, “...attack. The other day, in the ha-hall. I looked it up.”

Steve sits back. “No way. I don’t have anxiety.”

“I’m just sayin’, that ma-maybe you should talk to this shri-shrink too.”

Steve thinks about it, rubbing a thumb over the glass of his phone. Does he have anxiety? 

“...Okay,” he finally says. “I will.”

Bucky places a hand on Steve’s and sighs, and his eye bags are so dark. “O-okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: mentions of blood, someone has a panic attack
> 
> I have happy plans for this story, but it’s gonna be kinda weird and sad for a while. Sorry about that. See you soon.
> 
> Edit: One more thing - this chapter was in part inspired by [To Invite Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462834) by [Slenderlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock). Okay, that’s it for now ~
> 
> Re: Edit: Ok, one more thing actually. Have y’all heard Ariana Grande’s new album? I’m a huge fan of her and I think her song [breathin](https://youtu.be/8axQACbVkrk) is perfect for this chapter. Have a listen if you want :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: internalized ableism, overall Bad Times

Bucky sits, and waits. 

He glances over to where Steve is sitting next to him, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through a magazine. Bucky tilts to see the cover, nosy, but Steve’s leg is blocking it. He leans against the back of his chair.

They’re outside Sam’s office, at the VA. It was a hassle, this morning, to convince himself he needed to go. Steve had to promise him they wouldn’t take him back to S.H.I.E.L.D., back to the white room. Bucky looks over again at where Steve is sitting. Steve had also promised again that he was fine; he doesn’t have any kind of anxiety. Bucky bites the inside of his mouth, shakes his head once, twice.

A sound from the door to Sam’s office gets both of their attention, and Bucky watches as Sam opens it, saying goodbye to Natasha, who passes into the hall where Steve and Bucky are sitting.

“Talk to you soon,” she says, raising a quick hand in greeting to Steve. She doesn’t look at Bucky.

“Looking forward to it,” Sam calls after her as she walks down the hall, heels clicking. Then he turns to them, and steps aside. “Hey guys. Come on in.”

His office is small, and warmly lit by a few lamps. Bucky sits on an overstuffed couch, his hand immediately reaching for Steve’s once he sits down next to him. 

Steve squeezes it,  _ one, two, three _ . It makes Bucky feel a little better.

Sam sits at his desk and leans back, stretching. “Y’all need anything? I have some sodas back here.”

“I’m good,” Steve says. “Buck?”

Good, he signs. Then, remembering there’s someone else in the room, “G-good.”

“Alright then,” Sam starts to type at his computer. The clicking of his keyboard makes Bucky nervous, and he clutches harder at Steve’s hand.

Are you okay? Steve asks in a glance.

Bucky nods, lying.

Steve moves his eyes to the door, then back to Bucky. Do you need to step out?

Bucky shakes his head.

Steve purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay. Barnes, how are you?”

Bucky startles a bit, then answers, “Fi-fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sam finally stops typing and swivels towards them, playing with some kind of desk toy. “Steve said you’ve had some trouble sleeping?”

Yes, Buck signs.

Sam seems to understand, and turns to Steve. “How long has this been goin’ on?”

“Almost every night for the last week or so,” Steve answers, frowning. “Every now and then it get so bad, he wakes up and… And I don’t know. Is confused.”

Sam frowns back. “Confused?”

“Yeah,” Steve squeezes his hand again. “Like he doesn’t recognize me.”

Sam sets down the toy and steeples his fingers. “That true, Barnes?”

Bucky nods, ashamed. He wonders if Steve will mention the crying, or the begging.

“Hm,” Sam says. He types at his computer some more. “Well the specialist I know - her name is Helen - can help with that. She’s worked with PTSD sufferers before, and said she has a spot open in her schedule that she’s happy to write you in for.” 

Bucky blinks. PTSD? Like sold-? He looks away. Like soldiers.

“Also,” Steve adds meekly. “Something else happened.”

Sam doesn’t look away from his computer, but his tone is neutral, “Oh?”

“I think…I had a panic attack.”

Sam stops typing at that, and turns to them. “You _think you had a panic attack_. Steve, are you okay??”

“Yeah, yeah!” Steve assures him quickly. “I’m okay, that’s just what we think happened,” he trails off.

“Cap,” Sam sighs. “You need to take care of yourself. When did  _ this  _ happen?”

“The other day,” Steve admits, quiet. “But Bucky's nightmares - don’t you think that’s a little more important?”

“ _ Cap _ ,” Sam says again. “They’re  _ both _ important. You two are  _ both _ important.”

Steve wilts a little bit, probably embarrassed, and now Bucky squeezes his hand. 

“I’ll see if she’s comfortable seeing both of you. At different times, of course.” Sam types some more, then hits a key with a sense on finality. “Just sent her an email. She should reply soon. Do y’all need anything in the meantime? Barnes, you sure you don’t want a drink? You look a little pale.”

Steve looks towards Bucky at that. “Buck?”

“N-nervous,” he stutters. Don’t want to go back to the white room.

Steve seems to understand, bless him, and tells Sam so. “S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he explains. “Doesn’t want to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. Is Helen affiliated?”

“No, she isn’t. Don’t worry about that,” he assures them. “You don’t have to go back.”

Bucky forces himself to breath, and nods once. Affirmative.

-

Steve is waiting again.

He sits outside Helen’s office, this time. He checks his watch. It’s been…about 50 minutes since Buck went inside. That should be long enough for an appointment, right? He’s not entirely sure how this therapy thing works. 

Then, speak of the devil, Bucky opens the door and walks out, looking more tired than ever. He smiles weakly at Steve, then steps aside so who he assumes to be Helen can follow. 

She smiles at Steve, too, and gives a small bow. “Hello. My name is Helen Cho. You must be Steve. Come with me?”

Steve nods, putting away his glasses, and stands. Bucky takes his seat, falling back onto the cushions like he hasn’t sat in days. Steve looks back at him, worried, but follows Helen into her office. 

Her office is set up similarly to Sam’s, with even more lamps, and less clutter. Steve sits on the couch, but it’s not as comfortable as Sam’s. He places his hands in his lap, already itching to see Buck. Helen sits at her desk, and puts away some papers in a drawer. She then smiles again, looking at Steve.

“How are you?”

“Is Bucky okay?” Steve blurts. “Does he really have PTSD?”

Helen’s smile fades a bit. “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss my other clients.”

Steve frowns. “I’m his next of kin. I might as well be, anyway. You can’t tell me anything? What about his nightmares? Are they gonna stop?”

“Again,” Helen apologizes. “I can’t say.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Then why am I here?”

“Because a colleague of mine has referred you. I’m sure he had good reason.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m here for Buck, nobody else.”

She starts scribbling at something. “Wilson said you’ve been experiencing some anxiety?”

Steve eyes her as she scribbles. “Is Bucky okay or not?”

She sighs, setting down her pen. “I’m very sorry that I can’t tell you anything. But don’t you think you should take advantage of this in any way you can? You obviously need some help.”

“You don’t know  _ what _ I need,” Steve finds himself standing. “I’m not crazy. I’m  _ not _ .” He waits for a response. When none comes, he heads to the door.

“Steve,” Helen calls after a moment.

Steve turns back to look at her.

“About Mr. Barnes” she says, not meeting his gaze. 

Steve makes an impatient gesture for her to continue.

“In my opinion…” she looks up. “He needs to go back into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s care.”

-

“You  _ promised _ ,” Bucky is crying. “You and S-Sam both  _ promised me _ !”

“I know, Buck, I  _ know, _ ” Steve replies, hands outstretched in a weak surrender. “But it’s what she thinks is best. I’m… I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Bucky looks to Helen, who is looking away. Their shouting has drawn a few people out of their offices, including Sam, who quickly approaches. “Woah, woah… Barnes, you okay?” He reaches out a hand. 

Bucky wrenches away,  _ angry _ . “You  _ promised _ ,” he says again, pointing, voice catching on a sob. “You li- _ lied to me _ !” 

Sam looks at a loss for words. He turns to Steve, who is just as speechless. “I…”

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he  _ can  _ do. Sam has a hand on his phone, like he wants to call for help. Help from Bucky, help from the soldier. Bucky, or maybe the soldier, looks to their only hope. 

“Steve,” he pleads, words slurring in overuse. “Don’t let them t-t-take me.” Please, he adds with a hand.  _ Please _ .

Steve looks determined, heartbroken,  _ scared _ . He looks away, closing his eyes shut tight.

No… Someone is talking to him, leading him down a hallway, but he resists, calling for Steve.  _ Steve _ . He can see him getting further and further away. He can see Sam putting a hand on his shoulder, then he turns a corner and Steve is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH SORRY
> 
> Also I know Sam's VA isn't in New York just pretend
> 
> Also also I couldn't really decide who to write in as their therapist, so I just went with an existing Marvel character, Helen Cho. Again, just ᵖʳᵉᵗᵉⁿᵈ
> 
> More to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: another panic attack, brief references to self-destructive behavior

When Steve gets home, the apartment is empty.

He puts up his keys, loud in the quiet kitchen. Steve looks at the clock. It’s nearly noon, but… he’s not hungry. He walks into the living room, and sits on the couch. He turns on the TV, just to hear something.

He finds he can’t pay attention. He stands.

Steve makes his way down the hall, slowly taking off his shoes and dropping them on the floor. He loses his shirt, and his pants, and crawls into bed.

The empty bed.

Steve breaks. He sobs, loud in the soundless room. How long has it been since he’s been away from Bucky? He’d almost forgotten what it’s like; he’d almost gotten used to it. _God_ , he was almost _used_ to it. He sobs again, wrenching his hands in the blankets. And Bucky was probably used to it, too, after all those years, all those _years_.

He cries until he’s empty, too.

When he’s finally able to think, to speak, to do anything besides weep, he reaches for his phone. Until, he remembers they would have taken Buck’s away. It starts a fresh wave of tears, and he lets himself be pulled under again, weak against the tide. He feels…despondent. Guilty. He bites his lip. Remorseful. Angry.

He sits up. He’s feels _angry_. How could S.H.I.E.L.D….? He reaches for his phone again.

-

Bucky stops fighting after forty-five minutes and twelve seconds.

He lets them handcuff him. He lets them push him into a car. He lets them drive him to who knows where. He lets them talk to him, but he doesn’t respond.

Hill sits across from him, crossing her arms.

“Sergeant,” she sighs. “You know this is for the best. We have to be sure you’re not a threat.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, watching the scenery pass.

She sighs again. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I really am.”

They pull into a garage, and they’re at the headquarters, of course they are, and Bucky feels terror bloom in his chest like a wound.

He lets them lead him out of the car. He lets them lead him inside. For ten minutes and fifty-two seconds, he is lead, then he’s back in the white room. The handcuffs come off, but he can still feel the weight, and Hill closes and locks the door behind her.

The room falls silent. He strains his ears and he can hear the whirrs of the camera above him, and the hum of the electric locks. Other than that, nothing. He sits on the side of the bolted bed, and places his hands in his lap. He reaches inside himself for more fear, for anything, but he feels nothing.

The soldier stares at the floor.

-

Steve is sitting on the couch, his legs bouncing with nervous energy. He checks his watch. It’s been half an hour since he called, and he knows she was on a mission, but how long did it-?

There’s a knock on the door, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s up and answering in seconds. He opens the door.

Natasha looks up from her nails and gives him a composed smile, “Steve.”

Steve steps aside and beckons her in. She walks past, heels clicking against the floor. “Would you like anything? I think I have some Absolut around here somewhere…”

“Steve, not all I do is drink.” She sits at the table, setting a folder down. “Two shots, please.”

Steve cracks a smile of his own despite himself and fetches her the vodka. He pours himself a shot, then pulls out a chair. He downs it, and it hurts, but not enough, so he pours another. Natasha eyes him as she takes her own, but doesn’t say anything.

“So,” she starts, setting down her glass. “Tell me about what happened.”

Steve tells her, leaving out the hour of sniffling in bed. It’s obvious, anyway. Steve looks awful.

“You look awful, by the way.”

Steve nods, wincing as he swallows a third mouthful of alcohol. He reaches for more, but Natasha moves it away, raising an eyebrow.

“And you didn’t try to stop them? _That_ doesn’t sound like you.”

“No…” Steve laments. “Cho said it was for the best, and Sam trusts her, so I do. Did I… did she do the right thing?”

“I’m sure she _thought_ she was doing the right thing,” Natasha tells him, matter-of-fact. “Doesn’t mean it was. What exactly did she say to you?” She opens the folder.

“Well… She said that Bucky’s night terrors, as she called them, could pose a possible threat to others. But,” Steve adds exasperatedly, “he’s only ever been confused, and _scared_ , not _threatening_.”

“Hm.” Natasha flips through some papers. “Could he maybe be a threat to _himself_? What exactly does he do during these night terrors?”

“Nat… He wouldn’t hurt himself.” He thinks back to the morning before his panic attack. “He wouldn’t.”

Natasha considers him cooly. “Would he?”

Steve falters. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “But… I mean, how are they going to stop him from doing _that_? I’m telling you, he’s only ever been confused…”

“And I believe you,” Nat counters. She flips her paper over. “But I need to know what he does.”

Steve frowns at her, confused. “Why…”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s guidelines for holding possible threats,” she explains, flipping the paper back over.

“How did you…?”

She flicks her hair out of her eyes and gives him a wry smile. “I have my ways. Now what does he do?”

“He usually,” Steve bites his lip. Would Bucky be okay with him revealing such personal information? He would if it could get him out of detainment. Steve sets his jaw. “He usually wakes up, and looks around, like he’s not sure if he’s awake or not, and he always looks… _terrified_ , and sometimes he thinks I’m… I’m _dead_ , and that he did it. That the sol-“ Steve stops himself. Too personal, he decides. “That _they_... made him do it.”

Natasha takes it all in, and if she’s disturbed, Steve can’t tell. “Has he ever tried to hurt you after he wakes up?”

“No, never. He just… cries. He cries, and he begs me to forgive him. Or he tries to run. From them, I guess. From Hydra.” His heart pounds, and he feels something like adrenaline wafting up his ribcage. His hands sweat, and he tucks them in his pockets.

“Has he ever tried to hurt himself after he wakes up?”

“No, he- he hasn’t.” Steve finds his throat dry, and clears it. When he next speaks, it’s like he can hardly get the air to do it, “He hasn’t hurt himself.”

“And has he ever expressed the want to be hospitalized?”

“God, no,” he gasps. “He begged not to go back to- to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Natasha frowns at him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes. “M’fine.” He goes to stand, and nearly falls over.

Nat pushes out her chair. “Steve?” She’s around the table in moments, grabbing him. “I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Listen to me, okay? In…” Steve takes a breath, and it feels like his chest is in a vice. “And out. Again, in…”

Steve follows her voice until he can breathe again, then sinks back onto the chair.

Natasha sits back down, looking at him warily. “You okay?”

He nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah,” he manages.

“Has that happened before?”

Steve nods again, unable to meet her gaze.

Natasha still looks cautious, but goes back to looking at the folder. “According to this,” she says, glancing up, “in order to detain or hospitalize someone that isn’t in immediate danger, they need to have consented to it prior via an advance directive. And in their records, James doesn’t have one.”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “He doesn’t.”

She closes the folder. “It doesn’t sound to me like he’s a… _threat_. To anyone. I suggest we bring this information to Hill.”

Steve can hardly keep his eyes open.

Natasha looks at him with something like softness in her eyes. “We don’t have to do it today,” she says, standing. “You get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Steve starts from where he was nodding off. “O-okay,” he stands, too. “Thank you, Nat, really.” He thinks about maybe hugging her, but holds out his hand for a shake instead. She rolls her eyes and pulls him into a hug anyway.

“Don’t mention it,” she says gently. She probably means it.

Steve sends her off with another thanks and a goodbye, then he closes the door and heads straight to the bedroom, where he all but falls into bed. He gathers the covers up around him, and reaches a hand to Bucky’s side.

“Soon,” Steve whispers to him. “You’ll be home soon.”

He falls asleep waiting for a reply that never comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :-(


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: decriptions of blood, violence, hallucinations, brief mention of someone being sick
> 
> Specifics at the end, if you don't mind spoilers

The soldier is standing, like it always is, and looking around. It sees the mass of people gathered around, and their mouths are open in jest, or taunting, or misery, but they make no sound. It looks down to where Steve Rogers kneels, like he always does, and his mouth is closed, but uncovered.

“Bucky,” he says, and the soldier can’t look away. “You have to fight it.”

The soldier raises its gun, like it has to, like it _must_. It places it against the matching bruise on his forehead and readies it with a cock.

He might have tears in his eyes, or maybe it’s sweat, but he does not blink. He stares at the soldier.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he says again. “You can do this.”

“Please,” the soldier whispers, and it’s clear and deafening. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just…” the soldier feels something like sorrow. “ _Please_.”

He closes his eyes, and braces, and with a fire the soldier wakes up.

It was close, it thinks as it blinks water out of its eyes and watches the lights overhead blur and stretch, to sparing him this time.

-

It goes through the days like it used to. Wake up, piss, exercise, go back to bed. Its stomach constricts, but it ignores it.

Meals are served through a slot in the door. Crackers, and broth, and sometimes juice. When it doesn’t take it, the food is pulled back out. Eventually the glass unfogs, and it can see Hill speaking to it through the pane, probably asking it to eat. The soldier continues to ignores the food, and sits on the edge of the bed. It squeezes its knee, _one, two, three_. Why it does, it can’t quite remember, but it’s calming, soothing, so it does it again. Hill leaves.

It looks around. It’s feeling… bored.

Visitors aren’t allowed, and neither are books, or any other clothes, or utensils with pencil grips, or coffee-flavored drinks, or long warm showers, or Sarah Roger’s blanket, or _Steve_ Rogers, or-

It shakes its head until the room spins. Thinking of Steve Rogers is not allowed, it’s _not allowed_ . No use thinking of what it’ll never see again. It sways on the bed, dizzy, and squeezes its leg again, _one, two, three_ . _One, two, three_ . _One, two, three_.

It entertains itself, distracts itself, by watching the cameras overhead sweep back and forth. It tries to guess how many times the shutters will close in a minute. It predicts when it will move. It stares at its reflection in the lens, and sees who will look away first.

It watches blurred people pass in the hallway. It imagines what they might look like. It thinks a few times it might see someone it recognizes, but it’s never true. It even thinks it might see Steve Rogers, but whoever it is walks past without a glance.

It exercises, doing push-ups and crunches. It runs in place until it can’t run anymore. It does squats until its legs give out. It sits on the ground, and pants.

It lies in bed. It rubs its flesh hand against the bare mattress and tries to find patterns in the texture. It stares at the ceiling, at the lights. It passes its hands over its head and watches the glare from between its fingers. It closes its eyes and chases blue spots. It tries to meditate, counting its breaths.

It must fall asleep, because when it opens its eyes, it’s standing again in the room with the sallow lights and voiceless mob.

“Bucky,” Steve Rogers says, calmly. He doesn’t struggle against his binds. “ _Bucky_.”

The soldier hits him in the chest with the butt of its gun. He takes the blow, and another. Something cracks underneath his skin. Blood dribbles out of his mouth, and it can hear the bubbles loud and clear.

“Please,” he chokes through the gore. “It’s _me_.”

The soldier hits him again, until he crumples to the ground. He doesn’t try to get back up, and looks up at the soldier with eyes more trusting than ever. He tries to speak, but his lungs must be ruptured, because he only gurgles.

The soldier stomps on his chest hard, and then it’s awake.

The soldier, or maybe Bucky, or maybe _both_ , get out of bed, rush to the toilet in the corner, and they vomit.

-

They don’t let themselves sleep after that. They resort to standing, and pacing, and jumping. They don’t want to hurt Steve Rogers - _Steve_ \- any more. It has to have been real, it _looked_ real, red and green and yellow, it _smelled_ real, thick and mettalic and sharp... They don’t want him to go through that, so they don’t sleep.

They manage to stay awake for four days, twelve hours, five minutes, and thirty seconds, and then they sit. They sit, and they watch as the walls fall inward, and the ground opens up. And they let it swallow them, and fall back through the bed and into the darkness.

They fall for a long while, until surely it’s been years, or maybe seconds, and they see him. They try to call out, but make no sound. They try to use their hands, but their arms don’t listen.

They’re sitting on the floor in an apartment.

They look around. It’s like theirs, but somehow they know it’s not. The rooms are bare, and the world outside is dark, like a void. They look back, and find themselves looking at a woman. Helen, something informs them.

“Mr. Barnes. Soldier,” she greets. “How are you both doing?”

We don’t know, they think. Why is this happening?

“Because you need to know,” she tells them. “You need to know that the soldier is not real. None of this is real.”

They frown. If the soldier isn’t real then who is hurting Steve? Who is here?

“Neither of you. None of you. Mr. Barnes, you are one person.”

Impossible, they think. There has to be two. Who else would have done those things? Those horrible actions, those _murders_ , those-

“You did them, Mr. Barnes,” she says.

There has to be two, there _has_ to. Who else would...

“It’s okay,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

Bucky weeps.

-

Natasha sets down the envelope.

“I think everything you need to know is located inside this,” she says, lifting her hand from the table.

Hill adjusts her reading glasses, and peers down at it. She starts to open it, and Steve feels a little like he’s going to pass out. Natasha places a small hand on his bouncing leg, and he stills it, looking over.

Calm, she signs one-handed. Calm. Steve takes a deep breath.

“What am I looking at, exactly?” Hill asks, voice even, but curious.

“I have acquired S.H.I.E.L.D.’s guidelines for holding threatening persons,” Natasha explains, mild as ever. “And I disagree that James Barnes fits those guidelines. He also lacks…”

She rattles off some information that Steve attempts to follow, but can’t. He focuses on his breathing.

Hill continues to read the contents. The clock on the wall of her office ticks. Steve glances over his shoulder at the guards by the door, but they aren’t looking at him. He turns back around, and Hill is still reading. How long does it take?

Then, Hill takes off her glasses, and her expression is blank but her eyes are shining.

“Captain Rogers, Mrs. Romanoff. Could you please come with me?”

The three of them walk down several hallways, Hill pausing to unlock a door with her ID every few minutes. Steve keeps stealing glances at Natasha, and she looks back with a soft expression, or maybe it’s sad, but she doesn’t say anything. When they must have crossed the entire facility, they stop in front of a clouded glass wall. Steve recognizes it as Bucky’s room, and he bites the inside of his cheek trying not to let the nerves, the _anxiety_ dissolving throughout him show. Hill types in a long string of numbers on the pad beside the door, then waving away the guards with a barely-concealed smile, she steps aside.

“Go on in,” she assuages, and Steve’s resolve shatters.

He walks away from them with trembling legs, and falls to his knees in front of the man inside. He takes his flesh hand and holds it against his cheek, turning into it like he needs it to survive.

“Buck,” he breathes, barely audible.

Bucky looks through Steve, like he’s not even there, and Steve feels hot tears stream down his face.

“ _Buck,_ ” he says again. “It’s _me_ . It’s _Steve_.”

Bucky’s face remains blank, and his lips are parted, and his eye bags are _so dark_.

Steve hears Natasha come up behind him, and feels her place a hand on his shoulder, but only barely. He closes his eyes, asking. What he’s asking for, he doesn’t know. He asks, “ _Please_.”

“Steve.” He hears her, quietly. “He’s gone.”

“No,” Steve closes his eyes, hiding from reality in his palm. “Just wait, just _wait_.”

“Steve…” she pities. He hears the doors close, and Hill walk across the room, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

He feels two cold fingertips press into his forehead.

He opens his eyes, and sees Bucky looking just above him. He follows, and sees a metal hand , held like a pistol, pointing directly through his skull. Natasha’s grip on his shoulder tightens ever so slightly, but he feels… calm.

“Bucky,” he mumbles, gently.

Bucky’s face hardens, and he presses his hand harder.

“Go ahead,” he soothes, strangely relaxed, strangely prepared. “...I won’t stop you.”

Bucky’s brow twitches, and he presses harder, until it aches. Steve leans into the touch, closing his eyes.

“I trust you,” he whispers. “I trust you.”

-

Bucky blinks, and he’s sitting on the edge of a bed.

Natasha and Hill are watching him. They’re staring at something in front of him, and he follows their gaze. Steve is gripping his right hand where it’s held against his cheek. His eyes are closed tight, and he’s leaning forward, almost huddled. Bucky sees his other hand aimed at his forehead. Did the soldier…?

No, he remembers, he decides. He did.

He lowers his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings continued: In this chapter, Bucky experiences sleep deprivation and delusional thinking. It also touches on why he thinks of himself as having two different personas, and describes his nightmares in more detail. If that's not your cup of tea, reading this chapter isn't super necessary - just know that (spoiler!) Steve and Nat get him out :-)
> 
> More soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve feels the cold fingers from his forehead pull away.

He opens his eyes from where he had them closed, and moves his mouth from where it was pressed against Bucky’s warm hand. He looks up.

Bucky is crying.

He sees Steve looking at him, and he gives a watery smile. “H-hey,” he says, voice cracking.

Steve pulls him down by his arm and hugs him.

“Hey,” Steve sobs a laugh into his neck. “ _Hey_.”

Natasha takes her hand off of his shoulder, stepping back, and Bucky falls off of the bed into his arms. Bucky buries a hand in Steve’s hair, and rubs his other on Steve’s back three times, and it’s like he’s ended a pain Steve didn’t even know was hurting him. He squeezes his eyes shut, and hugs him tighter.

He doesn’t want to let go. Not ever again.

Eventually Bucky pulls back, and wipes his eye on a white cotton sleeve. He sits back onto Steve’s knees and searches Steve’s face like he’s committing it to memory. “I m-missed you,” he whispers with a weak smile.

Steve laughs again, barely a breath. “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry_.”

“Don’t b-be. I know. I _know_.”

Steve tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, and runs a hand down his scratchy cheek. “I’m still sorry. I never would have let them take you if I knew they couldn’t.”

Buck’s brow creases at that. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home. God, _home_ ,” Steve breaks again, hugging him tight. “We’re going home.”

Bucky rubs his back again, and presses a kiss to his neck. “I also th-think I need to talk to He-Helen,” he admits against his skin.

“Whatever you want, Buck,” Steve breathes. “Whatever you want.”

Steve doesn’t know how long they spend just holding each other, but when he finally helps Buck stand, Hill and Natasha have left the room. Bucky sways on his feet, and Steve steadies him.

“Have- have you been eating? Sleeping?”

No, Bucky signs, weak. No.

Steve’s heart breaks a little, and he tucks himself under Bucky’s arm. He helps him to the door, and Hill reenters the room. She helps him, too, bracing a hand on his back.

“I didn’t want to detain him,” she tells Steve as they hobble down the hallway, Natasha leading with an ear to her phone. “I had to. But I see now that we didn’t have to at all. And I’m sorry.”

Steve catches Bucky as he trips over his own feet, then turns to Hill. “I understand completely,” he says. “You were just doing your job.”

Hill gives him a wan smile, helping him hoist Bucky up into the car. He sits, dazed, then lays across the seats and falls asleep almost immediately. Steve taps his love onto Buck’s ankle, then gently closes the door.

“Will he be okay?” Hill genuinely sounds concerned. “He refused to eat the meals we provided him…”

“We’re taking him directly to the medical bay at the Avengers Tower,” Natasha explains, pocketing her phone. “He needs to rest, and they’re equipped to help.” Steve catches the subtle jab, but Hill apparently doesn’t, and she nods sadly.

“Alright. Again, I apologize. This never should have happened.”

“No,” Natasha says, tone light, but eyes dark. “It shouldn’t have.”

They get in the car, and pull out of the parking garage. Natasha drives, and Steve sits in the front, watching Bucky in the back for the entire ride.

“How long do you think he was awake? The whole time…?” Steve worries at a thumbnail.

“Most likely. He was probably afraid of having a nightmare.”

Steve’s heart breaks a little more. “Oh, Buck…” he murmurs. “Do you really think he’ll be okay?”

“I hate to say it,” Natasha turns on her blinker. “But he’s been through worse. He’ll heal from this, too.”

Yeah, Steve thinks. He has. And he will.

-

Bruce is more than happy to set up a room for Bucky, no questions asked. Steve thinks he’ll never really get to repay him for all he’s done.

Natasha leaves them in the bay, with a chaste kiss to the cheek for both of them. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises Steve in the doorway. “Let me know how he’s doing. Okay?”

“I will,” Steve promises back. “Thank you, Nat. For everything.”

Natasha smiles, and turns, clicking down the hallway.

Steve closes the door.

He returns to the futon next to Bucky’s bed. He’s already pulled it out and put sheets on it. He’s not going anywhere, not until Bucky gets stronger. He sits on it now, and reaches out a hand to clasp Bucky’s. He strokes his thumb over the plates and brushes his other hand over his hair. He leans up, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Bucky stirs. “Seeve?” he opens his eyes ever so slightly.

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“C-cold…”

“It’s the saline,” he explains, sitting back down. “You were pretty dehydrated, so Bruce set you up an IV.”

Bucky hums, his eyes closing. “I’m exhausted,” he adds, words slurring. “What happened?”

“Buck,” Steve chides, scooting closer. “You didn’t sleep for five days. Do you remember?”

“N-not a lot,” he mumbles. “I just ‘member getting there, and- and then you g-guys showing up.”

Steve smooths his hair back again and sighs. “That’s okay,” he tells him. “D’you remember what you said, about Helen?”

“Mm-hm. I need to go,” he opens his eyes, and looks at Steve seriously. “I w-want to.”

“Okay. I think I should see her again, too. About you know. My anxiety.”

Bucky smiles at that, closing his eyes.

Steve smiles back, affection blooming in his chest. He leans forward to kiss his forehead again, and tells him to get some rest. Bucky nods, sleepily. His breath slowly evens out, and his hand relaxes where it was grasping Steve’s. Steve scoots back a bit, and positions himself so he can lay down and still hold Buck’s hand. He falls asleep watching the other’s heart monitor rise and fall.

-

Bucky end up staying in the hospital for two more weeks.

Steve is by his side the whole time, snoozing and working on his laptop. Bruce checks in frequently, refilling his IV and working him up to solid foods. Bucky gets reacquainted with green jello, to his delight, and Steve brings him some Soylent from home.

Bucky is eating some yogurt when Steve returns from the hall.

He puts away his phone and smiles, sitting on his futon. “Just talked to Cho,” he explains. “She said she’s willing to come by for an in-house visit once you’re discharged - if you’re comfortable doing that. Do you still want to see her? She understands if you don’t…”

Bucky puts down his spoon. “Yeah, I d-do. I need to talk about the soldier. Abo-about me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at that. “Okay. Um, do you wanna talk to me about it at all?”

“Sure,” Bucky pushes aside his table and repositions on the bed so Steve can sit down. Steve takes off his shoes and slips in beside him, propping himself up on an elbow. “What do you w-want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me,” Steve fluffs up the pillow underneath his arm. “I know it’s kinda hard for you to talk about.”

“S’fine,” Bucky lays back, getting comfortable. “I… I remember a d-dream I had, or m-maybe it was a h-h-ha-hal-,” H-A-L-L-U-C-I-N-A-T-I-O-N, he spells. “B-Bruce said I was probably just s-s-seeing things. But she was there. Helen, I m-mean.”

Steve nods, face serious.

“She made me re-realize. I… I _am_ the soldier. I did those th-things.”

Steve smiles sadly, and grabs Bucky’s hand, the metal one, and rubs it with a thumb. “What else?” he asks, gentle and open.

“I remember feeling… f-feeling _awful_ about it. But the more I th-thought about it…” Bucky raises his gaze to look at his love, his life, his _Steve_ . “The more I- I- I was okay with it. _Am_ okay with it.”

Steve sighs, and smiles, a real one. “That’s great, Buck. That’s real great,” he says softly, and runs a hand up his arm and cups his jaw. Bucky leans in to touch his forehead against his, and lifts a hand to keep Steve’s there for a while.

They kiss, and it’s catharsis, like Bucky’s been waiting his whole life to kiss him again. He taps onto his wrist, _one, two three_ . Steve presses against him harder, and taps back on his cheekbone, _one, two, three_ . An _I_ , and a _love_ , and a _you_.

When Steve pulls back, he’s crying for real. “Sorry,” he laughs, sniffing. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

“Me too, S-Stevie,” Bucky nudges Steve’s nose with his. “Me too.”

-

When they move back into the apartment, it’s clean, stocked with food, and decorated with a crudely drawn welcome sign stretched across the kitchen wall. As Bucky gets situated on the couch, Steve reads a note tacked to their fridge:

_Welcome back! We cleaned your house for you ))_

_Basically I did, but Nat covered the food. I was up to my elbows in Clorox for weeks! YW!! _

_Yeah, yeah, ok Sam. Made you guys some Kasha -- James should be able to eat it. It’s in the fridge._

_i helped 2! see the decorations? aaaaall me_

_Whatever, Barton. Who scrubbed those counters???_

_Boys, stop wasting paper. This was my idea. Anyway, hope you and yours are doing well. Talk to you soon )_

If Steve tears up a little, well, it’s because of the Clorox. He puts the note in the drawer with his art supplies, and joins Buck on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, wiping his eyes and relaxing back against the cushions.

Good, Bucky signs, grinning. Really good.

“I’m glad!” Steve leans on an elbow and smiles right back. He must start to make heart-eyes at him, because Bucky swats at his chest, rolling his eyes. “Hey!” he swats him back. “Ready to see Helen?”

Yes, Bucky signs. “R-ready.”

“Okay, I’ll call her a little later. Until then, do you…” Steve feels suddenly embarrassed. “Do you want to go lie down? I miss cuddling with you,” he admits, looking away.

It’s Bucky’s turn to make heart-eyes, and he reaches out to grab Steve’s hand. “S-sure, punk,” he says, soft. “Hey.”

Steve glances up, still feeling sheepish. “Yeah?”

“I love you, you know th-that, right?”

Steve melts. “Yeah,” he squeezes his hand, and looks at his love, his life, his _Bucky_. “I know.”

Bucky stands, and leads them into the bedroom, where they strip down to their underwear and crawl into bed. Steve tucks Bucky’s head underneath his chin and pulls the covers up around them. Bucky reaches over to turn off their lamp, then settles back down on top of Steve. He runs his fingertips up Steve’s arm, and watches the goosebumps form. He trails his hand back down, gently, to intertwine his fingers with Steve’s.

Steve squeezes his hand, and rubs another up and down his back, feeling the bumps of his spine, the warmth of his skin. He closes his eyes, and he can almost feel Buck’s heartbeat alongside his. He takes in this moment, the smell of Buck’s freshly washed hair, the sound of the cars outside. “Hey, Buck?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you, too. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, probably falling asleep. “I know.”

Steve smiles, and Bucky sleeps, peaceful against Steve’s chest. Steve needs to talk to Sam, and to Cho, and maybe to himself, but it can wait until later.

He burrows down into the sheets a bit more, and falls asleep matching Buck’s breath, just breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want it to end!! I tried to wrap everything up in a neat little package, so hopefully this ending is satisfying <3
> 
> THANK Y’ALL SO MUCH FOR READING! I <3 YOU!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always for reading.
> 
> P.S. Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://highrothgar.tumblr.com). I post a lot of Marvel <3


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